A Change of Treatment
by W. W. Jacobs
“Yes, I’ve sailed under some ‘cute skippers in my time,” said the night- watchman; “them that go down in big ships see the wonders o’ the deep, you know,” he added with a sudden chuckle, “but the one I’m going to tell you about ought never to have been trusted out without ‘is ma. A good many o’ my skippers had fads, but this one was the worst I ever sailed under.
“It’s some few years ago now; I’d shipped on his barque, the John Elliott, as slow-going an old tub as ever I was aboard of, when I wasn’t in quite a fit an’ proper state to know what I was doing, an’ I hadn’t been in her two days afore I found out his ‘obby through overhearing a few remarks made by the second mate, who came up from dinner in a hurry to make ’em. ‘I don’t mind saws an’ knives hung round the cabin,’ he ses to the fust mate, ‘but when a chap has a ‘uman ‘and alongside ‘is plate, studying it while folks is at their food, it’s more than a Christian man can stand.’
“‘That’s nothing,’ ses the fust mate, who had sailed with the barque afore. ‘He’s half crazy on doctoring. We nearly had a mutiny aboard once owing to his wanting to hold a post-mortem on a man what fell from the mast-head. Wanted to see what the poor feller died of.’
“‘I call it unwholesome,’ ses the second mate very savage.’ He offered me a pill at breakfast the size of a small marble; quite put me off my feed, it did.’
“Of course, the skipper’s fad soon got known for’ard. But I didn’t think much about it, till one day I seed old Dan’l Dennis sitting on a locker reading. Every now and then he’d shut the book, an’ look up, closing ‘is eyes, an’ moving his lips like a hen drinking, an’ then look down at the book again.
“‘Why, Dan,’ I ses, ‘what’s up? you ain’t larning lessons at your time o’ life?’
“‘Yes, I am,’ ses Dan very soft. ‘You might hear me say it, it’s this one about heart disease.’
“He hands over the book, which was stuck full o’ all kinds o’ diseases, and winks at me ‘ard.
“‘Picked it up on a book-stall,’ he ses; then he shut ‘is eyes an’ said his piece wonderful. It made me quite queer to listen to ‘im. ‘That’s how I feel,’ ses he, when he’d finished. ‘Just strength enough to get to bed. Lend a hand, Bill, an’ go an’ fetch the doctor.’
“Then I see his little game, but I wasn’t going to run any risks, so I just mentioned, permiscous like, to the cook as old Dan seemed rather queer, an’ went back an’ tried to borrer the book, being always fond of reading. Old Dan pretended he was too ill to hear what I was saying, an’ afore I could take it away from him, the skipper comes hurrying down with a bag in his ‘and.
“‘What’s the matter, my man?’ ses he, ‘what’s the matter?’
“‘I’m all right, sir,’ ses old Dan, “cept that I’ve been swoonding away a little.’
“‘Tell me exactly how you feel,’ ses the skipper, feeling his pulse.
“Then old Dan said his piece over to him, an’ the skipper shook his head an’ looked very solemn.
“‘How long have you been like this?’ he ses.
“‘Four or five years, sir,’ ses Dan. ‘It ain’t nothing serious, sir, is it?’
“‘You lie quite still,’ ses the skipper, putting a little trumpet thing to his chest an’ then listening. ‘Um! there’s serious mischief here I’m afraid, the prognotice is very bad.’
“‘Prog what, sir?’ ses Dan, staring.
“‘Prognotice,’ ses the skipper, at least I think that’s the word he said. ‘You keep perfectly still, an’ I’ll go an’ mix you up a draught, and tell the cook to get some strong beef-tea on.’
“Well, the skipper ‘ad no sooner gone, than Cornish Harry, a great big lumbering chap o’ six feet two, goes up to old Dan, an’ he ses, ‘Gimme that book.’
“‘Go away,’ says Dan, ‘don’t come worrying ‘ere; you ‘eard the skipper say how bad my prognotice was.’
“‘You lend me the book,’ ses Harry, ketching hold of him, ‘or else I’ll bang you first, and split to the skipper arterwards. I believe I’m a bit consumptive. Anyway, I’m going to see.’
“He dragged the book away from the old man, and began to study. There was so many complaints in it he was almost tempted to have something else instead of consumption, but he decided on that at last, an’ he got a cough what worried the fo’c’sle all night long, an’ the next day, when the skipper came down to see Dan, he could ‘ardly ‘ear hisself speak.
“‘That’s a nasty cough you’ve got, my man,’ ses he, looking at Harry.
“‘Oh, it’s nothing, sir,’ ses Harry, careless like. ‘I’ve ‘ad it for months now off and on. I think it’s perspiring so of a night does it.”
“‘What?’ ses the skipper. ‘Do you perspire of a night?’
“‘Dredful,’ ses Harry. ‘You could wring the clo’es out. I s’pose it’s healthy for me, ain’t it, sir?’
“‘Undo your shirt,’ ses the skipper, going over to him, an’ sticking the trumpet agin him. ‘Now take a deep breath. Don’t cough.’
“‘I can’t help it, sir,’ ses Harry, ‘it will come. Seems to tear me to pieces.’
“‘You get to bed at once,” says the skipper, taking away the trumpet, an’ shaking his ‘ed. ‘It’s a fortunate thing for you, my lad, you’re in skilled hands. With care, I believe I can pull you round. How does that medicine suit you, Dan?’
“‘Beautiful, sir,’ says Dan. ‘It’s wonderful soothing, I slep’ like a new-born babe arter it.’
‘”I’ll send you some more,’ ses the skipper. ‘You’re not to get up mind, either of you.’
“‘All right, sir,’ ses the two in very faint voices, an’ the skipper went away arter telling us to be careful not to make a noise.
“We all thought it a fine joke at first, but the airs them two chaps give themselves was something sickening. Being in bed all day, they was naturally wakeful of a night, and they used to call across the fo’c’sle inquiring arter each other’s healths, an’ waking us other chaps up. An’ they’d swop beef-tea an’ jellies with each other, an’ Dan ‘ud try an’ coax a little port wine out o’ Harry, which he ‘ad to make blood with, but Harry ‘ud say he hadn’t made enough that day, an! he’d drink to the better health of old Dan’s prognotice, an’ smack his lips until it drove us a’most crazy to ‘ear him.
“Arter these chaps had been ill two days, the other fellers began to put their heads together, being maddened by the smell o’ beef-tea an’ the like, an’ said they was going to be ill too, and both the invalids got into a fearful state of excitement.
“‘You’ll only spoil it for all of us,’ ses Harry, ‘and you don’t know what to have without the book.’
“‘It’s all very well doing your work as well as our own,’ ses one of the men. ‘It’s our turn now. It’s time you two got well.’
“‘WELL? ses Harry, ‘well? Why you silly iggernerant chaps, we shan’t never get well, people with our complaints never do. You ought to know that.’
“‘Well, I shall split, ‘ses one of them. “‘You do!’ ses Harry, ‘you do, an’ I’ll put a ‘ed on you that all the port wine and jellies in the world wouldn’t cure. ‘Sides, don’t you think the skipper knows what’s the matter with us?’
“‘Afore the other chap could reply, the skipper hisself comes down, accompanied by the fust mate, with a look on his face which made Harry give the deepest and hollowest cough he’d ever done.
“‘What they reely want,’ ses the skipper, turning to the mate, ‘is keerful nussing.’
“‘I wish you’d let me nuss ’em,’ ses the fust mate, ‘only ten minutes– I’d put ’em both on their legs, an’ running for their lives into the bargain, in ten minutes.’
“‘Hold your tongue, sir,’ ses the skipper; ‘what you say is unfeeling, besides being an insult to me. Do you think I studied medicine all these years without knowing when a man’s ill?’
“The fust mate growled something and went on deck, and the skipper started examining of ’em again. He said they was wonderfully patient lying in bed so long, an’ he had ’em wrapped up in bedclo’es and carried on deck, so as the pure air could have a go at ’em. WE had to do the carrying, an’ there they sat, breathing the pure air, and looking at the fust mate out of the corners of their eyes. If they wanted anything from below one of us had to go an’ fetch it, an’ by the time they was taken down to bed again, we all resolved to be took ill too.
“Only two of ’em did it though, for Harry, who was a powerful, ugly- tempered chap, swore he’d do all sorts o’ dreadful things to us if we didn’t keep well and hearty, an’ all ‘cept these two did. One of ’em, Mike Rafferty, laid up with a swelling on his ribs, which I knew myself he ‘ad ‘ad for fifteen years, and the other chap had paralysis. I never saw a man so reely happy as the skipper was. He was up an down with his medicines and his instruments all day long, and used to make notes of the cases in a big pocket-book, and read ’em to the second mate at mealtimes.
“The fo’c’sle had been turned into hospital about a week, an’ I was on deck doing some odd job or the other, when the cook comes up to me pulling a face as long as a fiddle.
“‘Nother invalid,’ ses he; ‘fust mate’s gone stark, staring mad!’
“‘Mad?’ ses I.
“‘Yes,’ ses he. ‘He’s got a big basin in the galley, an’ he’s laughing like a hyener an’ mixing bilge-water an’ ink, an’ paraffin an’ butter an’ soap an’ all sorts o’ things up together. The smell’s enough to kill a man; I’ve had to come away.’
“Curious-like, I jest walked up to the galley an’ puts my ‘ed in, an’ there was the mate as the cook said, smiling all over his face, and ladling some thick sticky stuff into a stone bottle.
“‘How’s the pore sufferers, sir?’ ses he, stepping out of the galley jest as the skipper was going by.
“‘They’re very bad; but I hope for the best,” ses the skipper, looking at him hard. ‘I’m glad to see you’ve turned a bit more feeling.’
“‘Yes, sir,’ ses the mate. ‘I didn’t think so at fust, but I can see now them chaps is all very ill. You’ll s’cuse me saying it, but I don’t quite approve of your treatment.’
“I thought the skipper would ha’ bust.
“‘My treatment?’ ses he. ‘My treatment? What do you know about it ?’
“‘You’re treating ’em wrong, sir,’ ses the mate. ‘I have here’ (patting the jar) ‘a remedy which ‘ud cure them all if you’d only let me try it.’
“‘Pooh!’ ses the skipper. ‘One medicine cure all diseases! The old story. What is it? Where’d you get it from?’ ses he.
“‘I brought the ingredients aboard with me,’ ses the mate. ‘It’s a wonderful medicine discovered by my grandmother, an’ if I might only try it I’d thoroughly cure them pore chaps.’
“‘Rubbish!’ ses the skipper.
“‘Very well, sir,’ ses the mate, shrugging his shoulders. “O’ course, if you won’t let me you won’t. Still I tell you, if you’d let me try I’d cure ’em all in two days. That’s a fair challenge.’
“Well, they talked, and talked, and talked, until at last the skipper give way and went down below with the mate, and told the chaps they was to take the new medicine for two days, jest to prove the mate was wrong.
“‘Let pore old Dan try it first, sir,’ ses Harry, starting up, an’ sniffing as the mate took the cork out; ‘he’s been awful bad since you’ve been away.’
“‘Harry’s worse than I am, sir,’ ses Dan; ‘it’s only his kind heart that makes him say that.’
“‘It don’t matter which is fust,’ ses the mate, filling a tablespoon with it, ‘there’s plenty for all. Now, Harry.’
“‘Take it,’ ses the skipper.
“Harry took it, an’ the fuss he made you’d ha’ thought he was swallering a football. It stuck all round his mouth, and he carried on so dredful that the other invalids was half sick afore it came to them.
“By the time the other three ‘ad ‘ad theirs it was as good as a pantermime, an’ the mate corked the bottle up, and went an’ sat down on a locker while they tried to rinse their mouths out with the luxuries which had been given ’em.
“‘How do you feel?’ ses the skipper.
“‘I’m dying,’ ses Dan.
“‘So’m I,’ ses Harry; ‘I b’leeve the mate’s pisoned us.”
“The skipper looks over at the mate very stern an’ shakes his ‘ed slowly.
“‘It’s all right,’ ses the mate. ‘It’s always like that the first dozen or so doses.’
“‘Dozen or so doses!’ ses old Dan, in a far-away voice.
“‘It has to be taken every twenty minutes,’ ses the mate, pulling out his pipe and lighting it; an’ the four men groaned all together.
“‘I can’t allow it,’ ses the skipper, ‘I can’t allow it. Men’s lives mustn’t be sacrificed for an experiment.’
“”T ain’t a experiment,’ ses the mate very indignant, ‘it’s an old family medicine.’
“‘Well, they shan’t have any more,’ ses the skipper firmly.
“‘Look here,’ ses the mate. ‘If I kill any one o’ these men I’ll give you twenty pound. Honour bright, I will.’
“‘Make it twenty-five,’ ses the skipper, considering.
“‘Very good,’ ses the mate. ‘Twenty-five; I can’t say no fairer than that, can I? It’s about time for another dose now.’
“He gave ’em another tablespoonful all round as the skipper left, an’ the chaps what wasn’t invalids nearly bust with joy. He wouldn’t let ’em have anything to take the taste out, ‘cos he said it didn’t give the medicine a chance, an’ he told us other chaps to remove the temptation, an’ you bet we did.
“After the fifth dose, the invalids began to get desperate, an’ when they heard they’d got to be woke up every twenty minutes through the night to take the stuff, they sort o’ give up. Old Dan said he felt a gentle glow stealing over him and strengthening him, and Harry said that it felt like a healing balm to his lungs. All of ’em agreed it was a wonderful sort o’ medicine, an’ arter the sixth dose the man with paralysis dashed up on deck, and ran up the rigging like a cat. He sat there for hours spitting, an’ swore he’d brain anybody who interrupted him, an’ arter a little while Mike Rafferty went up and j’ined him, an’ it the fust mate’s ears didn’t burn by reason of the things them two pore sufferers said about ‘im, they ought to.
“They was all doing full work next day, an’ though, o’course, the skipper saw how he’d been done, he didn’t allude to it. Not in words, that is; but when a man tries to make four chaps do the work of eight, an’ hits ’em when they don’t, it’s a easy job to see where the shoe pinches.”